Moving on
by BEM96
Summary: The Reagan family handles another case, maybe Officer Reagan's last. Thank heavens. Plus a little more romance. This is the episode I want to see, but the writers haven't gotten around to writing. I've never written a Blue Bloods fanfic before, so I hope I stay true to the characters.


Frank Reagan walked down the stairs, still buttoning his suit vest as the knocking persisted at his front door. He didn't have any idea who it could be this early in the morning. He certainly hadn't gotten any warning from his office or detail. He glanced out the window and saw a middle aged woman, wrapped tightly in a coat and fiddling with a scarf, tapping her foot impatiently before she reached out to start her insistent knocking again. Frank reached for the door and opened it, mid knock from the woman, who stood with her fist still in the air where it had been tapping the door.

Frank stared at her blankly. Something about her seemed familiar, but he couldn't place her. "Can I help you?" Frank asked.

"You can, but I doubt you will," she snapped angrily. "I talked to your father about it two days ago and he's done nothing!" she called gesturing towards the driveway to the side of their home.

Frank glanced out the door to the driveway and on to the neighboring home beyond and suddenly he placed the woman in front of him. "Maggie Whitmore," he stated.

"Frank Reagan," she replied. "I told your father to move those trash cans. They are on _our_ side of the driveway. I don't see why we should house _our_ trash cans as well as _yours_!"

Maggie Whitmore had been four years or so behind Frank in school when he was growing up. Her older brother Bill had been a couple of years ahead of him. He hadn't known either of them very well. He remembered Mr. Whitmore passing away close to thirty years before. Since then Mrs. Whitmore had lived in the house next door alone. She was a quiet lady who mostly kept to herself. It didn't seem like her children lived nearby, but Frank really couldn't have said for certain. For years, he had sent Jamie or Joe to shovel her driveway after a snowstorm. Mary had always sent over treats on Easter and Christmas, but Frank hadn't kept it up after Mary died. Sometimes Frank saw Mrs. Whitmore in the driveway unloading groceries. He would smile and wave, but she would give nothing more than a friendly nod and go back to what she was doing. Sometimes she would chat with Frank's father, but not too often. It seemed that people from her church kept a close eye on her and that was always good enough for Frank.

He hadn't laid eyes on Maggie since, well, he wasn't sure when. Maybe he had seen her outside the house some Christmas ten or so years ago. He might have waived vaguely at her. It seemed a little shameful now. "Maggie," he began, but she cut him off.

"No one has called me Maggie since college, Frank. Are you going to move the trash cans or not?"

Frank looked out to the driveway again. The cans were on the far side of the driveway, but whether they were on the Reagan's side or the Whitmore's side was anyone's guess without more examination. "Margaret," he tried again, but she sighed with frustration then tucked her coat closer around her, as if it were the middle of winter rather than the beginning of spring.

"Look, just have them moved by this time tomorrow. I don't care who your father was, or what sort of high end security you have," she said gesturing to Frank's security detail. "Have them off my property or I'm calling the cops!" she snapped as she turned to walk off the porch.

"You're calling the cops," Frank almost laughed as she stormed past his security detail staffed by NYPD detectives.

She just gave a disgusted wave off as she stormed away. Frank shook his head to himself. His day was full enough without irate neighbors. "Pop," he called as he closed the doors behind him. "Pop, you want to talk to me about the trash cans?" he called up the stairs to where his father had yet to immerge from his room.

His father only snarled. "Oh, leave it be," he grumbled.

"Leave what be, Pop? I just had Maggie Whitmore pounding on our door."

"She needs to learn to relax," Henry answered. "I thought she would have unwound a bit from those years in California, but she is wound tight as a screw!"

"Pop."

"I'm just stating an opinion," Henry said.

"The trash cans, Pop?"

"What about them? Those cans have sat right there for longer than Maggie Whitmore's been alive. What's the sudden problem?"

Frank sighed again. "Pop, let's just move them to the other side of the driveway. Keep the peace."

"What peace?" Henry argued. "You start rearranging your life for every nagging neighbor, and you'll never hear the end of it. Stand your ground, Francis."

"This isn't Florida, Pop. It's New York. Move the cans would you please?" Frank said pulling on his coat. "I'll be home for dinner," he told him, grabbing his briefcase and heading for the door.

"You didn't eat any breakfast," Henry called.

"I'll eat at the office," Frank called back to him before closing the door and heading off to work.

Frank dropped his briefcase next to his desk as Detective Baker reviewed the plans for the day. "You are scheduled to meet with the Union delegate at one and the,"

"Why?" the commissioner interrupted.

"Because you agreed to hear their suggestions on the implementation of the officer worn camera program," she reminded him. "And the promotion files are on your desk for your review. Do you need anything else?" Baker asked as she made her way to the door.

"Not at the moment. Thank you, Baker," he told her as he took a seat at his desk.

"Commissioner," she nodded as she let the door swing shut behind her.

Frank sat and looked down at the files awaiting his attention, but his mind was elsewhere. The incident with the trash cans had gnawed away at him the whole way into work and he still couldn't shake it. What about his early morning run in had left him so unsettled? Was it the way she spoke to him? The way she had behaved? Maybe it was guilt. He hadn't exactly been a good neighbor to Maggie Whitmore's mother. A widow, living alone and the best he could do was have one of his children shovel snow once or twice a year? Why was her daughter there? Was Mrs. Whitmore in poor health? How would he know? Nothing about his treatment of his closest neighbor left him beaming with pride. On the other hand, if his worst offence of his neighbor was the placement of two trash cans, certainly he could have done worse to deserve the sort of lashing out he was currently receiving. He should check in on Mrs. Whitmore, he decided. Maybe that night, if he got home on time.

With that decided Frank leaned forward and opened the promotion review file that sat on his desk. His eyes didn't scan very far down the page before they froze on one name, third on the list for promotion to Detective 3rd grade. "Baker!" the commissioner called.

Obediently, Detective Baker appeared in his door, almost as if she had expected his call. "Sir?"

Frank held the file up. "Why didn't anyone give me a heads up about this?" he asked angrily.

"Honestly, Sir?" she asked.

"I would prefer it," he answered.

Baker cleared her throat slightly. "Because if they did, you would have responded with 'Would we be having this conversation if the officer's name was Smith or Jones?'"

"Are you suggesting that I get angry with my staff when they give me a heads up, and then I'm also angry if they don't?" he asked.

"That does, sometimes, appear to be the case where your children are involved, Sir."

Frank shook his head. He didn't get angry when they came to him about… well, maybe Baker had a point. "Could you, _please_," he emphasized, as if to stress his calm nature about it, "ask Lieutenant Gormley to join me?"

Baker only smiled. "Yes, Sir. Would there be anything else?"

"No," Frank answered and she began to leave. "Well," Frank called. He didn't know why he was even wasting his time thinking about it.

"Sir?"

"It's nothing," he decided, and Baker began to step out again. "Actually, if you don't mind," Frank called out, seeming to have changed his mind again. He leaned forward and wrote a name down on a piece of paper. "Could you see what you can find out about her? Nothing serious. She's not under criminal investigation or anything," he said, offering the paper to Baker.

"Yes, Sir," she said and left the room.

Jamie Reagan strode down the street with his partner by his side. They'd gotten a call about an angry woman passing out some sort of inappropriate flyers on the block ahead of them.

"Dumper or dumpee?" Eddie Janko asked him.

"Always the dumpee that ends up angry on the sidewalk," Jamie answered. "What is it about love that makes people go crazy?" he asked.

"You've never dated anyone that made you lose your cool?" Eddie asked him as they crossed the street.

"Not like some of these," Jamie sighed.

"Maybe you've never really been in love, then," Eddie said shaking her head.

"If being in love makes me make a fool of myself on the sidewalk, I'll pass," Jamie said laughing.

Eddie bent down and picked up a piece of balled up paper blowing down the street towards them. "Uh oh," she said as she unfolded it and showed it to her partner. There was a picture of a man with bold print under it saying **BEWARE- PEDOPHILE!**

Jamie and Eddie shared a look before Eddie tucked the paper into a pocket and the two continued down the sidewalk to where a woman was passing out flyers to anyone who would take them. She'd already stapled them to the trees along the street and taped them to the doors of the building she stood in front of.

"Excuse me, Ma'am," Jamie called as they approached.

"What do you want?" she asked angrily, as she continued offering the flyers to people walking by.

"My name is Officer Reagan; this is my partner Officer Janko. Can we talk to you for a minute?"

"I called you people yesterday. Nobody wanted to do anything about it then," she said, not stopping to even look at them.

"Maybe you could let us see those for a minute," Eddie said, reaching towards the papers. "And we could talk," she offered.

The woman snapped the papers away for Janko. She was in her late twenties, early thirties, dressed in jeans and a light jacket, with her hair pulled back in a hasty ponytail and she appeared to not have slept for a while, but didn't smell of alcohol or give the appearance that she was under the influence. "I told you last night!" she cried again. "I told you what I found, and you didn't care!"

"Okay," Jamie said making calming gestures with his hands. "We're here now. We _do_ care. Why don't you tell me what you told them yesterday, okay? Then we can figure it out together."

"I told them that I came home from work," she said, clearly getting emotional. "My boyfriend's laptop was open…" she began to shake and stifle a sob.

"You're boyfriend's laptop was open," Janko urged her. "Did you see something on the laptop?"

"Pictures," she sobbed. "There were dozens of them. Maybe hundreds," she told them desperately. "Those girls couldn't have been more than 10," she sobbed, looking away embarrassed.

"What kind of pictures?" Jamie asked, though he thought he already knew the answer.

"They were naked," the woman whispered. "All of them. They were pornography. Kiddy porn? Right? Isn't that what you call it?" she asked angrily.

"Then what did you do?" Janko asked.

"I got the hell out of there!" she yelled. "He's a sicko! I never want to see him again! I grabbed my stuff and got out!"

"Did you tell him what you saw?" Jamie asked?

The woman shrugged and shook her head. "He called me last night, asked me what was going on. I told him I knew. I told him I never wanted to see him again. I told him to stay the hell away from me. Then I called the cops."

"What did they tell you?" Eddie asked.

The woman started to cry again, but it didn't dull her anger. "They had me talk to some detective; he said that he gets calls like this all the time with messy break ups, that I shouldn't tell anyone, that Chris could sue me for defamation of character or something like that." She sniffed and wiped at her nose. "But someone has to do something! Kids live in this building!" she cried. "Someone has to warn them, and if you all won't, then I have to!"

"I get that," Jamie told her, "but this isn't the way. Help us. Help us do our jobs." Jamie looked around the block thinking for a moment. "What's your name?"

"Cheryl," she answered a bit reluctantly. "Cheryl Dunn."

"Okay, Cheryl. My names Jamie and this is Eddie," he introduced them again. "Did you live here with your boyfriend?" he asked gesturing to the building they stood in front of. Cheryl nodded. "Was your name on the lease?" Jamie asked.

She nodded again. "We moved in together about 9 months ago. It's a year lease," she told them.

"Do you have a key?" Eddie asked her.

"Yeah," Cheryl said looking around for her purse. "Yeah, I do. Why?"

"Would you give us permission to take a look around your apartment?" Jamie asked.

Cheryl stood nervously just inside the door while Jamie and Eddie scoured the apartment. There was a laptop sitting on the couch. "Is this Chris's laptop here?" Jamie asked pointing to the couch. "Is this where you saw the pictures?"

"He probably deleted them," she said tearing up.

"You'd be amazed what our technical analysts can find that people think they've deleted," Jamie told her, carefully picking up the laptop.

"Jamie," Eddie called, walking into the living room from the bedroom. "We've got a bigger problem," she told him holding up a set of hospital scrubs for her partner to see. On the pocket was stitched Presbyterian Hospital PICU. "Ma'am, where does your boyfriend work?"

"He's a nurse at Presbyterian's," she told them.

"Where in the hospital?" Eddie asked.

"Usually the Pediatric ICU, sometimes in the pediatric OR recovery."

Jamie and Eddie's eyes locked as they realized their suspect was likely around defenseless children even as they rifled through his apartment. "Keep an eye on this," Jamie said handing the laptop to his partner and taking his cell phone from his pocket.

"Who are you calling?" Eddie asked.

"A detective that won't ignore her," Jamie told her.

Danny Reagan and Maria Baez walked into the apartment half an hour later, with CSU right behind them. "Hey baby brother," Danny greeted Jamie in the hall.

"Thanks for coming. This could be a real mess," Jamie said.

Danny nodded. "Next time you stumble into something like this, first call's to Erin," he told Jamie, handing him a search warrant. "Let's tag the computer and get it out of here," he called to the techs, then turned back to Jamie. "We called the hospital. He's supposed to be on shift now. You and Janko, go pick him up. It's your collar. Go on," he told his younger brother with a pat on the shoulder.

"Thanks, but…"

"But nothing! It's your collar! You just keep adding them up and…"

"Danny, forget it, okay? Promotion lists went out last week. Nobody's said anything," Jamie told him, trying to hide his frustration for being passed over once again for detective. "It's not my turn, maybe it never will be."

"That's not it, and you know it. You're as good a cop as anybody with a gold shield I know."

"Yeah, well, maybe you're the only one who thinks so," Jamie said quietly. He liked to think it was his last name holding him back, but what if that wasn't the truth? What if his CO's just didn't think he could cut it?

"Go on," Danny told him. "Baez and I will finish up here. You go get your collar." Danny looked into the apartment where Baez and Janko were talking to the perp's girlfriend. "Hey Janko, take your partner and go get this scum, would you?" he called.

Eddie smiled at Jamie as they left the apartment. "Could be a big collar," she told him.

"Would you all just let it go?" Jamie called. "I told you! It's not gonna happen this time."

"Okay, fine," Janko said as they walked back to their car. "I was just sayin'."

"I know what you're saying," Jamie groaned. He knew he should find the support from his partner and family comforting, but he couldn't help but feel he was letting them all down.


End file.
